Mason shrugged again. “Maybe. But she knew the Pinkmans from way back, and that didn’t keep her from killing Doug.”
“She knew them?” Sam asked.
“Kelly was the water girl for the football team. That’s when those rumors started about her and one of the players. I’m not one hundred percent on what happened, but Kelly missed a couple’a three weeks of school and the kid left town, so—” He shrugged off the rest, but he must have been talking about the rumors that had spurred half the school to denigrate Kelly Wilson in her own yearbook.
Sam clarified, “Douglas Pinkman was the coach of the football team, so he would know Kelly Wilson from her stint as a water girl.”
“Right. She did two seasons, I think, along with another girl from the special ed group. The county office sent down this edict that we were supposed to integrate the special kids into more extracurricular programs: marching band, cheerleading, basketball, football. It was a good idea. I think it really helped some of them. Obviously not Kelly, but—”
“Thank you.” Sam went back to her notes. She turned the pages slowly, making notations with her pen. She hadn’t dismissed Mason so much as found something more interesting.
Mason looked at Charlie for some kind of explanation.
Charlie could shrug, too. “What did you want to talk to us about?”
“Yeah.” He worked his hat between his hands. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?”
She couldn’t believe he was dragging this out. “It’s back down the hall.”
He nodded before leaving, like they were in an English drawing room.
Charlie turned to Sam, who was still focused on her notes. “Why are you talking to him? We need to get him out of here.”
“Can you look at this and tell me what you see?” Sam pointed to the right side of the screen. “I don’t trust my eyes. Does this shadow look odd to you?”
Charlie heard Mason open the door to the bathroom, then close it. Thank God he hadn’t accidentally found Rusty’s office.
Charlie told Sam, “Please help me get rid of him.”
“I will,” Sam said. “Just look at the video.”
Charlie stood in front of the giant set. She studied the paused footage. She could see that the camera was angled down, only capturing half of the hallway. The famous blind spot that Mason had told her about. The overhead lights were on, but a weird shadow came from the right-hand side of the hallway. Narrow, long, almost like a spider’s leg.
“Wait,” Charlie said, but not because of the video. “How did he know where the bathroom is?”
“What?”
“He just walked right to it and opened the door.” Charlie felt a prickling sensation in her spine. “No one guesses the right door, Sam. There are five of them, and none of them make any sense. You know that. It’s pretty much a joke that no one can figure them out.” Charlie’s heart started throbbing at the base of her throat. “Do you think Mason knew Dad? That he’s been here before? Like a lot of times before, so he knows where the bathroom is without being told?”
Sam opened her mouth. She closed it.
“You know something,” Charlie guessed. “Did Dad tell you—”
“Charlie, sit down. I don’t know anything for certain at the moment, but I’m trying to work it out.”
Sam’s calmness made her anxious. “Why do you want me to sit down?”
“Because you’re hovering over me like a military drone.”
“You couldn’t say something delicate, like a hummingbird?”
“Hummingbirds are quite vicious, actually.”
“Chuck!” Ben yelled.
Charlie felt her heart lurch. She had never heard him scream so loudly before.
“Chuck!” Ben yelled again.
His footsteps pounded up the hall. He overshot the living room. He doubled back, frantic.
“Are you okay?” Ben looked over his shoulder, up and down the hall. “Where is he?”
Charlie said, “Ben, what—”
“Where the fuck is he!” Ben screamed so loudly that she put her hands to her ears. “Mason!” He slammed his fist into the wall. “Mason Huckabee!”
The bathroom door creaked open.
“You fucker!” Ben screamed, storming back down the hall.
Charlie ran after him. She skidded to a stop as Ben tackled Mason to the floor.
Ben’s fists started to swing. Mason held up his arms, covering his face. Charlie was filled with horror as she watched her husband beat another man.
“Ben!” She had to do something. “Ben—stop!”
Sam grabbed Charlie by the waist, holding her back.
“I have to—” Charlie stopped. She didn’t know what to do. Mason would kill Ben. He was a trained soldier. “Sam, we have to—”
“He’s not fighting back,” Sam said, almost as if she was narrating a documentary. “Look, Charlie. He’s not fighting back.”
She was right. Mason lay on the floor, his hands covering his face, as he absorbed every blow to his head, his neck, his chest.
“You coward!” Ben screamed. “Show me your fucking face!”
Mason took away his hands.
Ben landed a solid blow across Mason’s jaw. Charlie heard teeth crack. Blood spewed from Mason’s mouth. He lay there, hands out to the side, and took the beating.
Ben did not let up. He punched him again, then again, then again.
“No,” Charlie whispered.
Blood spattered the wall.
Mason’s eyebrow opened against the edge of Ben’s wedding band.
His lip was split.
The skin of his cheek was rent.
Mason still just lay there, taking it.
Ben hit him again.
Again.
“I’m sorry,” Mason said, slurring the word. “I’m sorry.”
“You fucking—” Ben reared back his elbow, his whole body twisting, then slammed his fist into Mason’s jaw.
Charlie watched the skin on Mason’s cheek ripple like the wake behind a boat. She heard a sharp crack, a bat hitting a ball. Mason’s head whipped to the side.
His eyelids fluttered.
Blood dribbled from his mouth, his nose.
He blinked again, but he did not move. His gaze stayed on the wall. Blood dripped down the dusty baseboard and pooled onto the hardwood floor.
Ben sat back on his heels. He was panting from exertion.
“I’m sorry,” Mason said. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry.” Ben spat in his face. He fell to the side, his shoulder hitting the wall. His hands dropped to his sides. Blood dripped from his knuckles. He wasn’t screaming anymore. He was crying. “You—” he tried again, his voice breaking. “You let him rape my wife.”
18
Charlie felt her vision blur. Panic gripped her throat. She could only hear the screaming inside her head.
Ben knew.
She asked Sam, “Did you tell him?”
“No,” Sam said.
“Don’t lie to me, Samantha. Just tell me.”
“Charlie,” Sam said. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing.”
There was only one wrong thing. Her husband knew what had happened to her. He had beat a man nearly senseless because of it. He had spat on him, he had told him—